Backbone
by LookAtMyShoes
Summary: First startled then exasperated, Hermione began tugging her jumper over her head, voice filtered through the tight threads of her sweater, "I knew it looked terrible, I feel like a pedophile's wet dream!" ;Fleur/Hermione; - Hermione worries over meeting Fleur's parents.


I haven't written fic in so long and I've been dabbling in the HP books and movies a lot again lately and wrote a little something~

_Backbone_

Not one for particularly flashy articles of clothing, Hermione stood in a black jumper, the crisp, white collar of her button-up folded neatly around the neckline of her sweater. Her black sleeves were framed by the cuffs of her blouse rolled to the elbow and her wrists bore no jewelry other than a practical-looking watch that hugged her left wrist with brown, leather straps. A grey pleated skirt hung from her hips that ended where her stockings began and she had forgone heels in favor of simple black flats that had white velvet bows wrapped near the nose of them. Her hair was tied into a loose but tidy braid, slack bits of it framing her face.

She grimaced at her reflection, twisting her wrists self-consciously in the grip of her own hands.

She looked plain and so very _young_.

It seemed that in order to complete the image all she needed was a trunk twice her weight and half her size with a bristly orange cat in tow - everything else about her appearance suggested she was apparently revisiting the youthful and awkward age of thirteen. In truth she was nearing the cliff of eighteen, about to freefall into her last year of being a teenager.

"My God," she muttered, tugging at the ends of her skirt. "This is a disaster."

"Oh, I think you look quite cute," Fleur piped in from the doorway. There she leaned against her left shoulder, hair left down but bearing evidence that it had been toyed with rather meticulously to achieve its state of casual beauty. It hung in loose, wavy curls, the various shades of blonde looking like drying strokes of a paintbrush. A smile hung on her lips like a secret and her blue eyes were positively electric. The rest of her was equally breathtaking - she wore a white, strapless dress that hung to her knees, pleated from the wide, leather belt synched around her waist. A ribbon of creamy fabric crisscrossed at her clavicle and looped around her neck, tied into a neat bow there. To top off her ensemble she wore a navy blue cardigan with three-quarter length sleeves and a rather expensive-looking pair of brown heeled boots. "You make a nice looking schoolgirl even though you are long graduated, _oui_?" she asked, her smile growing.

First startled then exasperated, Hermione began tugging her jumper over her head, voice filtered through the tight threads of her sweater, "I knew it looked terrible, I feel like a pedophile's wet dream! I don't know what I was thinking," her expression matched the frazzled look of her hair as she tossed her sweater to the floor. Fleur's flawless appearance soured her mood further as she compared it to her own state of dress.

The playful lilt fell from Fleur's lips like a wilted flower and a frown creased her brow.

"Oh, 'Ermione, I was only teasing."

Hermione heard the click of Fleur's boots drawing near to her, then felt a finger under her chin that gently commanded her to look up.

"You look adorable, truly," her thumb stroked Hermione's bottom lip, which swelled in a slight pout.

"I don't want to look cute, Fleur. I'm meeting your parents! I want to look sophisticated, I want to look mature… I don't want to look like I've just learned how to tie my shoes," she turned her head away from Fleur, fingers beginning to unbutton her blouse. "They'll hate me without a doubt."

Fleur pressed her hand to Hermione's heart, halting her movement. Her blue eyes were cloudy, troubled.

"They will not 'ate you. 'Ow could they? You are per'aps the most accomplished witch for your age in all of 'istory. If not for you, the Dark One would still be alive, oui? You are beautiful, you are intelligent, you are kind, you are brave. You carry ze weight of your travels in the wisdom of your eyes, in your words, in your scars…" she lightly stroked the etched letters on Hermione's forearm, acknowledging the haunting memories burrowed within Bellatrix's brand. "They owe you, _non_? They would be quite dead without you, I don't see any logic in them 'ating their own savior."

At that, Hermione lifted her head. She didn't need to be validated by anyone (even her goddess of a girlfriend), - she knew she was a product of hard work and determination - but hearing Fleur's opinion of her made her heart float in her chest. Her lips curled into a smile and she leaned into her. She _was_ intelligent, she_ was _brave, and although the hardships she underwent during the war were an obligation more than courageous voluntary action (she had a fierce loyalty to Harry), she felt warm at the receiving end of Fleur's compliment.

"You give me a rather dashing resumé," she said, twirling her finger around Fleur's wavy curls.

"You 'ave built it yourself, chérie," she cradled the back of Hermione's skull and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "You should put your sweater back on and I will fix your 'air for you," she said as she swept a few stray strands from Hermione's eyes. "Ma mère is eager to meet the one I am so taken with."

Hermione's nerves crept up her spine again, drumsticks playing up the xylophone of her vertebrae, as she imagined, for the millionth time, meeting Apolline.

"Well, all right," she reasoned, internally waging war between her nervousness and her rationality. Pulling her jumper back over her head, she added, "but I've got to find something other than _this_," she tugged on her skirt for emphasis. "I'm not walking in there looking like a teacher's pet. I've been one long enough," she murmured, already unzipping the back of her skirt.

"From my experience you are a very good pet," Fleur said languidly, turning Hermione's back toward her as she slid the skirt from her hips. She pulled Hermione close and rested her chin on her shoulder.

"I am not your _pet_, I am your _equal_, thank you very much," Hermione protested even as her body leaned into Fleur's hands on her hips. Fleur made an unconvinced noise at the back of her throat as she slid her hands under the front of Hermione's blouse.

"But I can play your game just this once," she added with far less dignity and a shortness of breath, and soon her nerves were long forgotten.


End file.
